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DANIEL

MclNTYRE

HENDERSON


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COFYRKiflT

DEPOSIT.


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5/144

A

BIT

BOOKIE

OF

VERSE

IN

THE

ENGLISH

AND

SC9TS

TONGUES

BY

DANIEL

McINTYRE

HENDERSON

AUTHOR

OF

POEMS,

SCOTTISH

AND AMERICAN

*^

>^

^

UNIVERSITY

BOOK

STORE

BALTIMORE

1905


6/144

NOV

16

syysi

eopy

at.

Copyright,

1905,

By

Daniel

McIntvre

Henderson.


7/144

N

2>eMcatfon.

I

HAD

WRITTEN,

TO

/IDI?

ffatber,

TRUEST

OF

MEN

AND

KINDEST

OF

CRITICS.

I

WRITE

INSTEAD,

TO

HIS

MEMORY.


8/144


9/144

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Proem.

?

Poetry..

8

If

Love be

One

9

H.H

11

Green

Fields

and

Running

Brooks

14

Burns'

Statue

at

Albany

16

Sing a

Sang

o'

Robin

.

.

17

Wallace

20

Tennyson

23

Flowers

in

Winter

24

A

Charity

Sermon

27

Forefathers'

Day

29

Robert

Louis

Stevenson.

30

The

Piper's

Awa'

32

New

Year

35

1901

36

Aerophane

38

New

Moon

39

3


10/144

4

CONTENTS.

PAOE

Ben

Jonson

42

A

Dead

Lion

43

Scotland,

a

Toast

44

Daisies

in Baltimore

47

Sanct

Andro, Pity

Me

53

The

Rally 57

Peace

in South

Africa

60

Sonnet

63

John Watson's

Creed

63

After

Browning

65

Shipwrecked

66

God's

Thoughts

67

Quo

Vadis

?

68

Man

and

Sphinx

69

Peter's

Faith

72

Similia

Similibus

74

The

Sea

Complains

75

Victoria Regina

77

Gladstone Dead

,

,

.

78

The

Unsained

Bairns

79

John

Tamson's Bairns

S3

Rainy

Scotland

86

For

A

Photograph

Album

89

The

Church

90

Alpha and Omega

91

ColumbiaHail

to Thee

93


11/144

CONTENTS.

5

PAGE

Clinton

Bowen

Fisk

95

The

Name

96

Bej'ond

97

The Symbol

100

Baltimore

1904

101

For An

Anniversary

103

The Heather

107

Haul Off

108

A

Song of Love

110

Oh,

Lippen

and

be

Leal

112

Burns

114

Our

Scottish Fern

117

Declined with

Thanks

121

Tam,

Tammy

123

Convolvulus 125

Thomas Carlyle 126

Our Neighbor's

Pity

127

Rest

Thee, Bonnie

Doo

128

Seekin'

Sympathy

130


12/144


13/144

A BIT

BOOKIE

OF

VERSE.

PROEM.

Fve

read

this

little

volume

through;

I

wonder,

did

I

write

the

hookf

Its

verses

sound

so

strange

and

new

It

has an

unfamiliar

look

Bookie,

the

secret

's

yours

and

mine;

If

any

question,

is it his?

You

saw

me

pen

it,

every

line.

And

stoutly

you'll maintain

''it

is '*

But

if

they

say

'tis

so

he

sings

'*

Say

naught

why

tell

them

they

are

wrong?

They

need

not

know

these

are

the

things

That

came

between

me

and my

song.

7


14/144

POETRY.

'Tis

the

celestial

body,

in

which

bideth

The

risen

truth

the form

most fair

and

fit

That

doth

reveal

the

soul,

and

nothing

hideth,

And

the

pure

spirit

doth illumine

it


15/144

IF LOVE

BE

ONE.

The

skies are

black,

the

winds are bold,

The

road

is

rough

and

long,

But

what

are

clouds

and

stony

ways

When

hearts are full

of song?

And

two

there

be

who

walk Life's

path

Unheeding wind

or

weather,

And

minding

but

yon merry

sprite

Who

holds

their hearts in tether.

All ways

are

smooth,

all

days

are

bright

With

him for

guide

and

sun

And three are always

company

If

Love be one

9


16/144

lo

IF

LOVE

BE

ONE.

The road is smcx)th,

the

wind

is

soft,

The

sky is

clear

o'erhead,

But what are

pleasant

ways

and

days

To

those

whose

hearts

are

dead?

And

what

is

song

that fills

the

ear

But

can

no

further

go?

And

what is light

that

eyes

can see

But

souls

can

never

know?

Ah,

two

there

be

who

walk

Life's

path

As

though

they

walked

alone

For

two

are

never

company

When

Love

is

gone


17/144

H. H.

(Helen

Hunt

Jackson

was

buried

on

a

spur

of

Cheyenne

Mountain, Colorado,

at

a

spot

which was

her

favorite resort.

Her

grave

is

marked

by

a

cairn, composed of

the

white

rocks

abounding

in

the

neighborhood. The remains

have

since been

removed

to the public

cemetery.)

Her

grave

is

on

the

mountain

side

Midway

between the

plain and

sky

It

looketh

to

the

heavens

high,

It

looketh

o'er the

prairie

wide

Here would

she

climb

in other

days

To feel

the

bending

sky's caress,

And see

the

green

sea,

limitless.

But

for yon

shifting

shore

of haze

II


18/144

12

H.

H.

'Tis well

she

rests

where

oft

she

trod

And

well,

because

this

soul

was

one

That loved

the pure

air

and

the

sun

And

walked the

mountain

heights

with God

Yet

she

in lowly

life

had

part

Such

was

her

nature

fine

and strong,

That

earth's

low

sob and

heaven's

high song

Had

equal

echo in

her

heart

A

fitting

grave

and

fitting

too

The

cairn

that

white,

and broad

and high,

Grows

with

her

fame

as

years

go

by,

And

love

brings

ever tribute

new

'Twas

so

in

simpler

days

of

old

Love

for

the

hero

dead

was

shown

No

sculptured

shaft,

no

graven

stone

His

virtues

and his

valor

told


19/144

H,

H,

But

how

men

loved

him

all

might

learn

Who

marked

how

each

who

passed

that

way

.Would

stop,

and

turn

aside

to

lay

A

wayside

stone

upon

his

cairn.

And

she

was

hero-hearted,

strong,

With

words

to

soothe

or

melt

or

stir,

And

so

we

pile

white

stones

for

her,

And

thank

God

for

her

life

and

song.

And

so,

a

grateful

offering,

I

to

her

cairn

this

stone

have

brought,

This

wayside

pebble

of

my

thought,

Ashamed

it

is

no

richer

thing.


20/144

GREEN

FIELDS

AND RUNNING

BROOKS

(On

receiving

James

Whitcomb

Riley's

book

with

the

above

title.)

What

are

the poet's

books?

Green

fields

and

running brooks,

And man's

unfathomed

heart.

This

is the sum

of

Art

To hear what

these

may

tell;

Hear

and

repeat

it

well.

Old

ocean's

ceaseless

flow,

Breezes that

come

and go.

Clouds

and

the

cloudless

sky,

Valleys

and

mountains

high,

Meadows

and

shady

nooks

These

are

the

poet's

books

14


21/144

GREEN

FIELDS AND

RUNNING

BROOKS,

These,

but

not

these

alone

Creation maketh

moan,

TravaiHng in

unrest

Till

he

be

manifest

Who all

her being

stirs

The man, God's

son and

hers.

The poet, he who

reads

The

heart and

all

its

needs,

Fashions

a

song whose

rhyme

With

Nature's

pulse

beats

time,

And

men

who

hear rejoice,

Saying

our

Mother's

voice

Praise him

who,

when he sings,

Touches

the

living

strings

That

vibrate through

the earth

With

tenderness

and

mirth

Who

gives

us

in his

books

Green

fields

and

running

brooks

IS


22/144

THE

BURNS

STATUE AT

ALBANY,

NEW

YORK.

Tis

he,

our

Burns,

in

bronze

made

manifest

The

subtlest

ken,

the

inmost

secret

caught.

Expressed

of Art,

by

cunning

fingers

wrought

The

heart's

ideal,

ne'er

till

now

confessed

'Tis

he

in

truth

the

years

that try

and test.

The cruel,

kind

years,

that

winnow

work

and

thought

Bequeath

us this

the

weak

is

all

forgot,

This

is

our

Burns,

our

strongest,

tenderest

No

more

to bonnie

Doon and

flowing Ayr,

And

thy

kirkyard,

Dumfries,

the

pilgrim

turns

No

more

to

these alone

the

past

is

there,

The

sacred

dust,

the

memory

of

Burns

Here

too,

a

shrine

is

hallowed, and

men

pay

Their tribute

to the

bard alive for aye.

i6


23/144

SING

A

SANG

O^

ROBIN.

Sing

a sang

in

Robin's

praise

Sing

his

bonnie

lilts

and

lays

Wale

o'

singers,

king

o'

hearts,

Blaw

his

name

to

a'

the

airts,

Sing

a sang

o'

Robin

Scotland's

love

and

joy

and

pride

Hers

and

a'

the

world's

beside

Scotland's

bairn,

but

a' men's

brither

A'

hands

joined,

and

a'

thegither

Sing

a

sang

o'

Robin

Lads

and

lassies

cooin'

fain

By

yon

trystin'

tree

or

stane,

17


24/144

i8

SING

A

SANG

0'

ROBIN,

Love's

ain

tongue

he

taught ye

weel

Stop

and

thank

this

rhymin'

chiel,

Sing

a

sang o'

Robin

Heedless

loons

that

whustlin'

gang

That's a

stave

o'

Robin's

sang

Auld

folks,

toddlin'

doon

the

hill,

Robin's

rhymes

ye're

croonin'

still-

Sing

a

sang

o'

Robin

Freeman,

list to

Robin's

strain

Firmer

grasp

your

sword

again

Worker,

thro'

Life's

toil

and

din

Robin's

lilts

blaw

blithely

in,

Sing

a

sang

o'

Robin

Lambkin,

maukin,

mousie

sma'

,

Cheep

his

praise

that

lo'ed

ye

a

-

Birdies,

a'

his

sangs

repeat;

Sweet

your

ain,

but

no

sae

sweet

Sing

a

sang o'

Robin.


25/144

SING

A

SANG

O'

ROBIN.

Nature's

seP

maun

join

oor

sang

Waft

it,

winds,

whaure'er

ye gang,

Burnies

croon

it,

hare-bells

ring

it,

Listenin'

tree-tops

catch

it,

sing

it,

Sing

a

sang

o'

Robin

Years

hae

come

and

years

hae

gane

A'

the

years

are

Robin's

ain,

Blaw

his

name

to

a'

the

airts,

.

Wale

o'

singers,

king

o'

hearts

Sing

a

sang

o'

Robin

19


26/144

WALLACE.

(A

bronze

statue

of Sir

William

Wallace

was

unveiled

in

Druid

Hill Park,

Baltimore

30, 1893.)

Hero

of

Scotland,

Wallace wight,

Grasp

with

thy

strong right

hand

again

The

sword

that

flashed

in

Freedom's

fight

And woke the

hero

heart in

men

Ay,

lift it

high, but

not

to

smite

Rather to

summon

and command:

See,

at

thy side

bare-browed

we

stand.

And

here swear fealty to the

right

O

brave, true

heart

that

needs

must

breathe

The breath of

Liberty,

or die,

We

glory

that

thou

didst

bequeath

Thy spirit

and thy purpose

high

To

the dear

land

that

gave thee

birth,

Land

by

our fathers'

swords

made free,

That

bears the

torch

of

Liberty

To

lighten

all

the

lands

of

earth

20


27/144

WALLACE,

21

Great

champion,

how

sore

the

strife

A

hard,

rough,

way,

a

bitter

end

How

fierce

the

foe

who

sought

thy

life,

And

false

who

should

have

been

thy

friend

They

put

thee

to

the

death

of

shame

The

shame

was

theirs

O

hero,

thou

Didst

pay

fair

Freedom's

price,

and

now

She

crowns

thee

with

a

deathless

name

Ah,

hadst

thou

seen,

thou

warrior

grim,

One

corner

of

Time's

scroll

unfurled

If

e'er

in

dream

or

vision

dim

Some

promise

of

a glad

new

world.

Where

God's

peace-angel

broods

alway,

And

Freedom

sings

in

every

breeze.

Had

come

thy

great

soul's

pain

to

ease

And

cheer

thee

in

thy

darkened

day

Thou

didst

not

see,

thou

couldst

not

know-

The

New

World

was

not

and

thy

hand


28/144

22

WALLACE.

Struck

in

the

dark

the

ringing

blow

That

broke

the chain that

bound

thy

land.

Who

have

not

seen

and yet

believed,

Blessed

are

they,

and

blessed thou

Our

grateful

laurels

wreathe

thy

brow

For

all thy

life and

death

achieved

'Tis

ours,

with

valiant

word

and deed

To

fight

the

subtle foes

unseen;

The

tyrant

vice,

the

traitor

greed.

Ambitions

selfish,

sordid,

mean.

O

hero,

help us

war

to

wage

With every

foe of

Liberty

Help

us

to

hold

our

heritage

In

trust

for

ages yet

to be


29/144

TENNYSON.

(On

his

death.)

When

tfie

lark

has dropped

from

the summer

sky,

When

the

one,

clear, masterful note

of

song

That

fell

to

us out of

the

heavens

high

Is

stilled

ah well,

we

may hear the

throng

Of

fledglings

chirping in

wood

and

lea

Their

rondeaus,

triolets

and

the

rest

But

after

the

skylark's

melody

Silence awhile

methinks were

best.

23


30/144

FLOWERS

IN

.WINTER.

(For

one

shut

in.)

To

her

these flowers

I bear;

A

Hly queenly,

fair.

And

a

red

rose rare.

No breath

of

summer

blew.

Nor sun

nor

cooling

dew

Kissed

them

where

they

grew.

When

forth

from Winter's

sky;

Frost's stinging

arrows fly

Summer's

children

die;

24


31/144

FLOWERS

IN

WINTER.

25

But

these

(ah, happy

case)

Shut

in from

Winter's

face

Keep

June's

bloom and

grace.

Like one

a

worshiper

I

bring them

now

to

her

Hid

from

all

Life's

stir.

These

at

her

feet

I

lay-

But bear

fresh flowers

away

Fairer far than

they.

*Tis

summer in

this

room

Where Hope

in

perfect bloom

Sheddeth

sweet

perfume

The

flower

of

Patience

fair

Hath here that

gracious

air

Lilies may not wear.


32/144

26

FLOWERS IN WINTER,

Here

too,

Affection

grows,

And

with

a

radiance

glows

Richer

than

the

rose.

From

her

shut

in

I

bear

These

to

the

outer

air

Lord, that

they

flourish

there


33/144

A

CHARITY

SERMON.

Lord,

what

to

do

?

The

poor

are

so

many,

Our loaves

are

so few

Send

them away

It

were

better The Master,

For

our

sakes

says

Nay

.

Think

of old

days

And

the

loaves

that

were

leavened

With

love,

this

He

says.

Five

loaves

of

bread

With

these

and

a

blessing

The thousands

were

fed.

27


34/144

28

A

CHARITY

SERMON.

Said

I

to

you

That

miracles

greater

Than

mine

ye

might

do

?

Try

me

and

prove:

Let

dough

now

be

kneaded

And

leavened

with

love

Lo,

what

was

small,

Increased

by

my

spirit

Sufficeth

for

all

Loaves

? Nay

more

love

'Tis

that

only

filleth

Tis

bread

from

above


35/144

FOREFATHERS'

DAY.

Southward the

Mayflower's

keel

we

steer,

Through

smoother

seas,

to

sunnier

shore

Than

our

stern

fathers

braved

of

yore

When,

fearing

God and

void

of

fear,

They

faced

the

wild

and

wintry

sea,

The

savage

foe,

the sterile

sod.

For the

dear

right

to

worship

God

And

walk

His

way

with

conscience

free

Southward

we

shape

the

Mayflower's

prow.

Bid

her

Godspeed,

with richer

store

Than

ever Spanish

galleon

bore.

Our

little bark

is freighted

now

With light,

the darkness

to dispel.

With

law and liberty

and

love.

With

faith in

man

and

God

above

With

all

good

gifts

God

speed

her

well

29


36/144

ROBERT

LOUIS

STEVENSON.

('*

Weep

sore

for

him

that goeth

away

;

for he

shall

return

no

more,

nor

see

his

native country. )

Jer.

22

:

lo

A

noble

grave

is

yon

upon

the hill-top high,

Before him

but

the

sea, abune him

but

the

sky

But

oh,

in

bonnie

Scotland how

fain

was

he

to lie,

The

green

grass

ower

him,

and

the

daisies

In

the land

that

bore him,

there

he

could

na'

dwell,

For the

frosts

and

the

mists and

the

winds that

were

sae

snell.

But

aye

his

heart

was

wi'

her,

he

lo'ed

her

like

him-

ser

Her

green,

green grass,

and the daisies.

30


37/144

ROBERT

LOUIS

STEVENSON.

31

The

unco

folk

were

kind

on

yon

foreign

isle

And

balmy winds and

sunshine

micht

a'

his

pains

beguile

A'

but

the heartache

for Scotland

a'

the while

.

Her

green,

green

grass

and

the

daisies.

It's

oh

to

lie

in

Scotland,

down

in

yon

lown

glen.

Or on

the

moor

or

brae,

or

on the purple ben

Wi'

kith

and kin,

the

leal anes, the wale of

manly

men,

The

green

grass

ower

us

and

the

daisies


38/144

THE

PIPER'S

AWA'

Oh the

days

o'

langsyne

when Saint

Andrew

wad

ca'

And

the

saints

wad

foregather

frae

near

and

frae

far,

And

we'd

march

to

the

board,

while

the

piper

wad

blaw.

As brave

as our

sires

when they

marched

to the

war

But

noo'

a'

is

changed,

for

the

piper's

awa'

,

And

the skirl

o' the pibroch

inspires

us

nae

mair,

Oor

step has

nae

spring

as

we

march

to

the

ha'

And

ilka

man,

dowie,

draps

into

his

chair.

Oh

the

piper in

glory

o'

scarlet

and

green,

Nae

peacock

sae

gay,

nane

sae

proodly

could

stalk

;

His

braw

siller

buckles

wad dazzle

your

e'en,

His

feathers

proclaimed

him

the

cock

o'

the

walk

32


39/144

THE

PIPER'S

AWA,

33

Oh

the

tunes

that

he

played,

oh

the

noises

he

made

They wad

drive

ony Sassenach

loon to

despair,

But

they

carried

us back ower the big sea's

rough

track

To

Scotia's wild

hills

hoo'

we

wished he

was

there

Ye

mind

hoo

the

haggis

was

brocht

to

the

board.

The honors we

paid it,

o'

dishes

the

first.

The guard

in

the

front wi'

his

muckle

sharp

sword,

And

the

piper

ablawin'

as

gin

he

wad

burst

Hoo

they marched thro' the ha' in majestic

parade,

The steam,

like

sweet

incense,

ascendin' abune.

Then oor bard said the

grace

in

the Doric sae

braid,

And

the haggis, sae hallowed,

was

handed

aroun' 1

But

sma'

is the

honor

we

pay to it

noo

The piper

is

gane

and

the bag

is

unfilled,

And

even a

haggis

is

wersh

in

the mou'

When silent's the

drone

and the

chanter

is stilled


40/144

34

THE

PIPERS

AWA

Let

us pray

like

guid

Scots for

a

blessin'

complete,

(While we

tak'

what

is

gaun'

and are thankful'

for a'),

May

the

Powers

that ordain

that

we

haggis

maun

eat

Gie

wi'

it

a

piper

its

praises

to blaw


41/144

NEW

YEAR'S

DAY.

And

what though

a

year

be

gane

by

Anither

is

oors'

let

it

gang

We

part

frae

the

auld

wi'

a

sigh

Let

us

welcome

the

new

wi'

a

sang

Ay,

a

sang

for

the

blithe

New

Year,

E'en

though,

could

we

forecast

it

a',

We

micht

gie

to

the

new

ane

the

tear,

The

sang

to

the

year

that's

awa'

But

the years,

as

they

come

and

gang,

Are

His,

wha is

loving

and

true

Sae

nae

sigh,

but

a

sang,

a

sang.

For

baith

the

auld

year

and

the

new

35


42/144

I90I.

New

Year,

ere I

welcome

thee,

Say

what

bringest

thou

to

me?

Health hast thou

and

wealth

and

fame,

Or

sickness,

poverty

and

shame?

Shall

we

march

to

merry

song

Or

dirges

make

the way

seem long?

Shall

I

taste Life's

ripened

fruit,

Or,

famished,

gnaw its

bitter

root?

Will

the old friends

still

be

true

?

Shall

we

change old

loves

for

new?

Ope

thy

store

if all

be

ill

Wherefore should I show

goodwill?

If

thou

bringest

all good

cheer

Welcome

thou

shalt

be,

New

Year

(New

Year

speaks.)

Naked as

a

babe at

birth

I

am come

from Heaven,

to

Earth,

36


43/144

In my

hand

no

gift,

nor

fee

Only

Opportunity.

Neither

purse

nor

pouch

have

I

Only

childhood's

helpless

cry,

Clothe

me,

feed

me,

give

me

care

'

Here

a

little

while

I

fare,

Then

with

what

this

world

has

given

Hie

me

to

the

throne

of

Heaven.

And

the

Maker

of

the

years,

By

my

smiles

and

by

my

tears,

By

the

gems

of

love

I

wear.

By

the

wounds

of

hate

I

bear,

Judges

men

and

judges

Man

Here

I

stand,

bless

thou

or

ban

37


44/144

AEROPLANE.

Light souls

may

lightly

rise

And

float

in

placid

skies;

Powerless to

push or

steer,

With every wind

they

veer

But

thou,

would'st

thou

aspire?

Forward,

with

heart

afire

Dost

seek

a

heavenly

dower?

Be

it

not grace but

power

Who

drives

and

will

not drift

Shall

feel

divine uplift;

The soul is

skyward

drawn

That

cries

not

up

but

on

38


45/144

NEW

MOON.

Again the moon,

the

fair new

moon

It

lieth

on

the

hem

of

night

A

gleaming

thread,

so silver-white

As

Heaven's

own

boon

My glad

heart

hails

the

crescent

moon.

A

bow

of

pure,

celestial light

A

bended bow

from

it

do

fly-

Arrows of hope

across the sky

God

wings

their

flight

Slain

are

the

evil things

of

night.

How body-worn,

how

full

of

fret

'

And

care

was

I, when for

my eyes

39


46/144

40

NEW

MOON.

This bow

of

promise in

the

skies

Once

more

was

set

Now,

what

is pain,

for

I

forget

?

Strange,

I have seen this

thing

so oft.

Yet

seems it still

a

miracle

Still

she

doth

weave

for

me

her

spell

So

sweet,

so soft,

And

bears my soul

with

her

aloft

A

maiden

queen,

so

soft,

so

shy

Timid

to

launch

her

little

boat

Into

the

vast of

night

and

float

So

far,

so

high,

Across her

own great

realm

of

sky

So

shy, ah yes,

but

she shall ride

The

full

round

moon

in

majesty

Thro'

highest

heaven

her

path

shall

be,

In

grace

and

pride

Attendant

planets at

her

side


47/144

NEW

MOON,

4j

The

round

full

moon,

her

charms

beguile

All

men

and

spirits,

the

great

sea

A

follower

in

her

train

would

be

She

doth

but

smile.

And

earth

is

fairyland

the

while

And,

yet, this

slender

thread

of

light,

This

curve

of

silver

in

the

sky

The

fair

new

moon,

so

soft,

so shy,

Gives

me

delight.

More

than

the

full-orbed

queen

of

night


48/144

BEN

JONSON.

Oh

rare

Ben

Jonson

happy

epithet,

That with thy

name

through

all

the

years

shall

run

Few

win

such

praise

nay,

most

are

pleased

to get

That

tribute

opposite

to

rare,

^'

well done.

42


49/144

A

DEAD

LION.

Better

a

living

dog, he said

Nay, be

a

lion, alive

or

dead

Life,

to

be life,

must worthy

be

There

are

dogs

enough

no

need

for thee

43


50/144

SCOTLAND

A TOAST.

Here's

to Scotland ance

again

Land

o'

lands,

our

loved,

our ain

Cradle

o'

the leal

and

brave,

Heroes' hame

and martyrs'

grave

Scotland,

every thocht

o'

her

Gars the sluggish

pulses

stir,

Gars

the

dull heart

loup

fu' fain

Here's

to

her,

and here

again,

Scotland

Land

o'

bracken and

o'

broom,

0'

the heather's

breath

and

bloom,

O'

the shy

and

sweet

blue-bell,

O'

the

foxglove

in

the

dell,

O'

the

gowan on

the lea,

O'

the

bonnie hawthorn

tree,

44


51/144

SCOTLAND

A

TOAST,

O'

the

thistle,

sturdy

flower,

Emblem

o' her

grace

and

power,

Scotland

i

Land

o'

bens

that

bide

in

mist,

Smiling

straths

the

sun

has

kissed.

Gloomy

tarns

and

burnies

bricht

Checkered

plaid

o'

shade

and

licht .

Land

o'

story

and

o' song,

A'

o'

tender

and

o'

strong,

A*

o'

savage

and

o'

sweet

Join

to

make

her

charms

complete

Scotland

'

Land

where

Freedom's

throne

is

set

Harried

oft,

unconquered

yet

Sword

o'

English,

Roman,

Dane

Beat

her

bossy

targe

in

vain

Priest

and

prelate

wrocht

their

worst

Socht

her

skaith

wi'

wiles

accurst

45


52/144

46

SCOTLAND-^A

TOAST.

Still

she

triumphed,

still

she

stands,

Freedom's

ain, the

wale

o'

lands,

Scotland

Here's

to

Scotland,

first and

last

Fair

her

future as

her past

Worthy are

her livin' bairns

As

they

that

sleep

aneath

her

cairns.

Where the

world

has

need

o'

men,

Need

o'

hammer,

sword

or

pen,

Scotland's sons are

to

the fore

As

in

glorious

days

o'

yore

Scotland

Here's

to Scotland

ance

again

Land

o'

lands, our loved, our

ain

Cradle

o'

the

leal and

brave,

Heroes' hame and

martyrs' grave

Scotland, every

thocht

o'

her

Gars

the

sluggish

pulses

stir,

Gars

the

dull heart loup

fu'

fain

Here's

to

her,

and

here

again,

Scotland


53/144

DAISIES

IN

BALTIMORE.

A

daisy

let

me

rub

my

e'en

Some

fairy

glamor's

here,

I

ween,

Tfiat

mak's

them

hazy

Or

else,

frae

yonder

sward

sae

green

There

peeps

a

daisy

A

daisy,

na,

it

canna

be

Nae

daisies

grow

this

side

the

sea

Horse

gowans

plenty.

But

no

oor

daisy,

modest,

wee,

Red-lipped,

dainty.

Ay

fact,

its

sae

oor ain

sweet

flow'r.

The

Scottish

daisy

oh

what

power

Is in

this

seeing

That

gars

auld

memories

in

a

shower

Flood

a'

my

being

47


54/144

48

DAISIES IN BALTIMORE.

Auld

times, young

frien's, their

pranks

and

plays,

The

white-flecked fields,

the

bloom-lit

braes

Are

here

again

We

weave,

as

in

thae happy days,

Oor

daisy

chain

The lassies

seek

their

fate

to

ken

They

pu'

the petals ane by

ane,

And name their

love,

And

be

he

fickle,

be

he

fain.

The

count'll

prove

And by

the bracken,

thro' the whin

We

hear

the

wimphn'

burnie

rin

Sae

cheerily;

It

seems,

wi' merry

lauch

and din

To

share

oor

glee.


55/144

DAISIES

IN

BALTIMORE.

49

Far

in

the

lift the

laverock

hings,

And

dJ

his

walth

o'

music

flings

Sae

heedless

roun'

,

And

sings,

and

sings,

and

better

sings,

A'

lilts abune.

He

learned

that bonnie

sang

nae

doot,

And crooned

it ower,

and

thocht it

oot,

The

words,

the

phrases,

Low

in

yon

nestie ringed

aboot

Wi*

kindly

daisies.

Oh,

daisy,

Burns's

flower

thou art'I

He

took thee

to his

poet

heart,

And

aye

sin'

syne

His

sang

has

made

thee seem

a

part

O'

human kind


56/144

50

DAISIES IN

BALTIMORE.

Puir

flower,

say

what

mischancey

breeze

Has

blawn

ye

ower the tumblin'

seas

To

this

far

neuk,

Where

a'

things

wear

frae

folk

to

trees

An

unco

look?

This iron

man

they

ca'

him

Taney,

^

Had

brains eneuch

to be

a

Sawney

Ye'd like

to

see

him

Turn this

way

roun'

, but

then

he

canna*

Ye

maun forgie

him

And

yon stane

man,

high

on

his column,

That's

George

-

himself

,

the

fearfu'

solemn-

Ye fain

wad win

him

To

smile

just aince

ye'll

hae

to

thole

him

Lod, it's

no

in him

1

Roger B.

Taney.

2

George

Washington.


57/144


58/144

52

DAISIES

IN

BALTIMORE.

And

ilka

day

I'll meet

ye

here,

And

whisper

braid

Scots in

your

ear

Ye'll

ken

it fine

And sae

we'll gie ilk

ither

cheer

For auld

lang

syne.


59/144

SANCT

ANDRO,

PITY

ME.

If e'er

to

bonnle

France

you gang.

And

pass

thro'

Arras

toun,

You'll

turn

in

by

yon

auld

kirkyard

And

search

its

gravestones

roun'

,

And

there,

'mang

many

uncoliames

This

a'e

kenned

name

you'll

see,

John

Chisholm,

and

these

words

beside,

Sanct

Andro, pity

me.

JoHn

Chisholm,

sturdy

man-at-arms,

And

bold,

perfervid

Scot,

His

wanderings

and

his

doughty

deeds

Are

dune

and

clean forgot.

53


60/144

54

SANCT

ANDRO,

PITY

ME.

But

weel

ken

we,

true

Scot

was

he,

And

when

he

came

to

dee

He breathed this

prayer

in

alien

air,

Sanct

Andro,

pity

me.

His

cry

was heard,

leal-hearted

Scots

Stood

by

their

brither

there,

And pity

moved

their

hands

to

help,

Their

hearts his

pangs

to

share.

Wi'

their

ain

hands

they

made his

grave.

And

set,

so

fair

to

see

This

stane

tliat

bears

''

John

Chisholm's

name

Sanct

Andro,

pity

me.

Oh, strange

strong

spell

thats

on

us

a'

,

And

winna

let

us

be

Content

wi'

gear

or

power

or

fame.

Or

ocht

that earth

can

gie

But

drives

us

back, frae

East,

frae

West,

To

oor

auld

Mither's

knee,


61/144

SANCT

ANDR

O,

PITY

ME.

55

And

wrings

frae

a'

oor

hearts

the

cry,

Sanct

Andro,

pity

me/'

Ah,

some

there

be

that

leave

their

hame

And

wander

weary

miles.

And

toil

dreich

days but

never

win

A'e

glint

o'

Fortune's

smiles.

A

hard,

yet

noble

fecht

they

mak*

While

ills

their

pathway

hem

Poortith

and

loss

and

sickness

sair

Sanct

Andro,

pity

them

Ay,

pity

them,

and

gie

us

grace

To

stretch

the

willing

hand,

To

soothe

and

share

a

brither's

pain,

And

help

the

weak

to

stand

The

saint

that

guards

auld

Scotia's

shore

To

us

his

spirit

gie,

And

mak'

us

quick

to

hear

the

prayer

Sanct

Andro,

pity

me


62/144

56

SANCT

ANDR

0,

PITY

ME.

And

if

their

be

a'e

misnamed

Scot,

Wha

hears but

doesna'

heed

The

widow's

wail,

the

orphan's

tale,

The

brither's

cry

o' need;

Wha

hugs

his

wallet

to

his

breast

Wi'

visage

sour

and

grim

Oh,

mair

than

a'

the

puir

and

weak,

Sanct

Andro, pity him


63/144

THE

RALLY.

They

said,

She

is old,

this Britain

Old and

her

children

few,

And

scattered

far

at

the

ends

of earth

Each

with

his work

to

do.

Each

thinking only

of

self

and

pelf,

And no one

thinking

of

her

Shall

we

call

the

pack

^her

hands

are

full-

Shall

we

bite

she

cannot

stir

Did

she

cry

for

help,

our Mother?

What

need

had

she

to

call

The

yell

of

snarling

hounds went

forth,

And was

heard by her

children

all

Sons

and their

sons

and

their

children's

sons,

From

the

white

to

the

torrid

zone;

57


64/144

58

THE

RALLY,

Britannia's

brood,

blood

of

her

blood

And

bone

of

her

very

bone

See,

from

the

fields

of

old

England,

The

children

about

her knee,

And

see

from

Scotland's

heather hills,

The

free

sons

of

the

free.

And

see from

Ireland's

huts and

halls

Bravest they of

the

brave

The

empire that

their

hands

have

built,

Her loyal

sons

shall

save

Canadians,

straight

as the pine

trees

That pierce

the

New

World's

sky

They

dream of

an

isle

they

have

not

seen.

And

proudly

for it would

die

And

see how

under

the

Southern

Cross

Australia's

sons

stand forth

Yea,

mark

how

the

needle

of

loyalty

Points

steadfast to

the North


65/144

THE

RALLY,

59

From

the

East

and

the

West,

the

Indies

And

isles

of

the

farthest

sea,

No son

of

the

blood

but

hears

and

asks

Has

the

mother

need

of

me

?

And

the

yelpings

cease,

the

cringing

hounds

Show

now

neither

fang

nor

tongue

They

said,

This

Britain

is

old

and

weak/*

And

lo,

she

is

strong,

she

is

young

We

of

the

selfsame

birthright.

One

blood,

one

spirit,

one

speech

This

to

our

brothers

who

fight

today

For

the

rights

of

all

and

each

From

the

Cape

whose

name

is

prophecy.

Northward

your

feet

are

bent,

And

above

your

banners

we

read,

Good

Hope''

For

a

darkened

continent.


66/144

PEACE

IN

SOUTH

AFRICA.

Peace

and

the

cooing

of the

dove

For

the

foul vulture's

croak

Peace

and

the living

breath

of

heaven

.Where hung

the

battle smoke

Peace on

the

veldt

for War's

rude

share

And

rain

of

blood

and

tears,

A

harvest of

Earth's

noblest

things

For

all

the coming

years

Lay healing hands

upon

her

wounds

Hope

and

new

courage

give

And

brave

as

were

her

sons

to

die

May

she

be brave

to

live

60


67/144

PEACE

IN

SOUTH

AFRICA,

6i

Show

her

a

people

great

and

strong,

In

love

and

purpose

one,

Briton

and

Boer

traditions

dear,

But

each

her

loyal

son

Show

her

herself

not

isolate

In

Earth's

lone

corner

curled,

But

one

in

the

fair

sisterhood

Whose

handtouch

rings

the

world

And

for

her

tribal

god,

whose

arm

Is

shortened,

may

she

find,

The

Father-love

that

broods

o'er

her

And

all

of

human

kind

Peace,

peace

for

her

and

all

the

world,

Shall

hatred,

greed

and

wrong.

And

cruel

ignorance

bear

rule?

How

long,

O

Lord,

how

long


68/144

SONNET.

(A

New

York

newspaper offered

a

prize of

two

thousand

dol-

lars for

a short story and

one half

the

amount

for an

Epic

Poem.)

The priceless

thing

the

nation's

story

told

In

measures

such

as

Milton's

pen

impelled

Or

from the lips

of mighty

Homer

rolled

Is

guaged

the oak

of Magna

Charta,

felled

Is

so

much

timber

and

an

epic sold

In

new world

marts

is

merchandise,

and,

held

Against

our

great

all-measuring

wand

of gold,

Is

by a

half-hour's

idle

tale

excelled.

So

long

Calliope in

sleep hath

lain,

Welcome

even

insult if

its sting

can

break

The

death-like

spell and

bid

her pulses stir

But

petty passions

move

her not,

nor

pain.

Nor even

prizes

she will

not

awake

Thalia

smiles

and so

avenges

her.

62


69/144

JOHN

WATSON'S

CREED.

I believe in

the

Fatherhood

of

God.

I

believe in

the

words

of

Jesus.

I

believe

in the

clean

heart. I

believe

in

the

service

of love.

I

believe

in

the

unworldly

life.

I

believe

in

the

Beati-

tudes.

I

promise to

trust God

and

follow

Christ,

to forgive

my

enemies and

to

seek after the

righteousness

of God.)

Christians

all

should

be

agreed

Get

together

on

Watson's

creed

Short

and

simple,

clear

and sound,

Here's

a

common

standing-ground

Amen,

says

many

a

yearning

heart,

Why should

we

ever

be

apart?

Nay,

but

nay,

say

one or

two,

Such

a creed

will

never

do

Look

at

all

the things

left

out

Nothing

there

to quarrel

about

All

of

us

couldn't

stand

on

that.

It

isn't

narrow

enough

that's

flat

63


70/144

64

JOHN

WATSON'S

CREED,

Alas,

and

alas,

howe'er we

plan,

If

the

creed

be

broader

than

the

man

He

won't

go

on,

or he'll tumble off.

And

angels

grieve, and the

creedless

scoff.


71/144

AFTER

BROWNING.

God's in the world

For

all

its

bustle

and

din

God's

in

the

world

For

all

its

sorrow

and

sin-

God's

in the

world

Shaping

a

world

to be

Come

ye apart

a

while

Out

of

the world

and see.

65


72/144

SHIPWRECKED.

From

Memory's

book

let

that last leaf be

torn,

Blot

out

the

horror

of

those

twenty years,

The tragedy of

unavailing

tears,

And hopeless

battlings

of

a

will o'erborne

No

more

sad

broodings;

we

were

brothers sworn

In faith and

friendship, in

all

things

but fears

Why

should

I judge

what is

by

what

appears?

For

love's

sake

I

remember

not,

nor

mourn.

He

is

to

me

as

in the early days.

Alert

to

honor,

open

to

all truth,

Buoyant

with

hope

and eager for

Life's

fight

With

strength

of

manhood,

playfulness

of

youth.

His wit

sword-tempered,

keen

and

flashing bright-

Let

others

blame,

be

mine

the word of

praise

66


73/144

GOD'S

THOUGHTS.

God

has

a

thought

for

the

maple,

You

may

read

that

thought

in the

tree

:

Would

you know

his

thought

for

the granite?

Look at the

granite

and see

His thought

for the

springing

grass

Is told

by the cool,

green sod

The

rose,

unfolding

its petals,

Discloses

the

mind

of

God.

His thought for

the

butterfly's

life

Is writ on

the insect's

wings

The

word

He

spake

to

the skylark

You

hear

when

it soars

and

sings.

We

think

we

are

more

than

the

bird,

More

than

the

tree

and

sod,

Yet say,

are

we

living

our

lives

As

true

to

the

thought

of

God?

67


74/144

QUO VADIS?

One

there

was who

hitched

His

wagon to

a

star

Out of

the ruts of

life,

Above

its stour

and strife

It

bore

him

far.

And

one

there

was,

a

star

Would

to

his

wagon

hitch-

He too

has

left

the

road,

His wagon

and

its

load

Are

in

yon ditch.

6$


75/144

MAN

AND

SPHINX.

The

vision

of

a

man

to

whom

all

life

Was

as

a

troubled

dream

who

saw

the

world

In

twilight

darkening

to

deepest

gloom.

*

Two

giant

forms

he

saw,

one

the

great

Sphinx

Gazing

straight

on

with

calm,

unseeing

eyes,

And,

fronting

it,

an

angel,

tall,

alert,

Grasping

a

two-edged

sword

as if

to

smite

But

Time

wore

on,

and

when

again

he

looked

The

placid

Sphinx

gazed

with

unheeding

eyes,

But

from

the

angel

figure

the

huge

wings

Had

dropped,

and

shattered,

lay

upon

the

ground

A

warrior

faced

the

Sphinx

with

naked

sword

And

Time

wore

on,

and

when

again

he

looked,

The

sword

had

crumbled

into

dust

a

man,

A

fenceless

man,

with

empty,

outstretched

hands

Fronted

the

brooding,

silent,

awful

Sphinx

*

Thomson

City

of

Dreadful

Night.

69


76/144

70

MAN AND

SPHINX.

Again he looked,

the

man had

fallen

prone

Worn

out

of

Time

and

still

the

Sphinx

remained

And

saw,

and

saw

not

*'

this/'

he said,

is Life

And

others,

dozing,

murmur

this

is

Life

The

nightmare

dream

is

false

look

o'er

the

years

Look

out upon

your

struggling

fellow men

Read

your

own

heart, and

know

the

converse

true.

We

walk

in

twilight,

but

we

face the

morn

Even now the

hilltops

catch

its early

beams.

Evening

and

morning

was the

world's

first

day,

And

ever

the

strong

sun

consumes

the

night.

The

wrecks

are not

of men

who faced

the

Sphinx,

Only

of those

who

flinched

and

slunk

aside.

Men

we have

known,

and Man

the

years

have seen

Emerge

from

dust

and

rise

and face

the Sphinx

Unarmed

and

helpless

and

but

half

erect,

But

unabashed,

and Time passed

and

they

saw

The self-same

man fronting

the self-same

form,

But straighter,

stronger

grown,

and

unafraid,


77/144

MAN

AND

SPHINX.

y^

And

wielding

now

the

Heaven-gifted

sword.

And

Time

goes

by,

and

lo,

where

once

the

man,

Where

once

the

warrior,

a

winged

one

stands,

God's

armed

angel,

with

the

smile

that

comes

Of

strength

and

peace,

viewing

the

sad-eyed

Sphinx.

And

what

shall

be

we

know

not,

but

are

sure

No single

life

that

out

of

weakness

grows

To

strength,

and

wins

swift

pinions

and

the

sword

Shall

ever

lose

them,

or

return

to

dust

The

soul

of

man

outlives

the

Eternal

Sphinx.


78/144

PETER'S FAITH.

The

disciples

saw their

Master

Walking

on

the

sea

Cried

the

bold,

impetuous

Peter

Bid

me

come to

Thee

Come, and

on the instant

Peter

From

the

boat

did

bound;

Walked,

ay, walked the sliding

billows

As

on

solid

ground

No,

it

isn't

all

the

story

They

who

choose may

tell

How, as waves

grew

big and

bigger

Peter's courage

fell.

72


79/144

PETER'S

FAITH.

How,

but for

the

gracious

Master,

Peter

would

have

drowned

Just

such

failure,

just such

succor,

Every life

has found.

Here's

the

great

thing

worth

the

telling

Faltered,

failed,

did

he?

For

one

single,

splendid

minute

Peter

walked

the

sea

73


80/144

SIMILIA

SIMILIBUS.

I

saw

in

an

office

a

sign

On

which

this

legend

was

shown

Don't tell your

troubles

to me,

I

have

troubles enough

of

my

own.

So

some have

not

learned

even

yet,

It

is

good

others'

sorrows

to share

Our

own

burdens sink

out

of

sight,

When

the

burdens

of

others

we

bear.

74


81/144

THE

SEA

COMPLAINS.

The sea,

Although

so

strong

and

free,

Murmurs

and

moans

continually.

What

bitter

trouble

doth

his bosom

swell?

What

grief

that he

must

tell

Doth

in

his

bosom

well?

Far,

far from

shore

A

thousand

leagues

or

more,

I've

seen

the great

glad

smile

that

rippled

o'er

His

face,

or

heard

him

with

the

tempest

roar

How great

was

he.

Shouting

in

wrath, or

laughing loud

with

glee

How

limitlessly

strong,

and how

entirely free

75


82/144

76

THE

SEA COMPLAINS.

So

seemed

it

then

and

yet

Not

so

^his mighty

heart doth fret

Because

a

Mightier

hath

here

his

boundaries

set

The sorrow

of

the

sea

O

heart

hath

come

to

thee

That

knowest thou

art

bound,

and art

so

seeming

free

Sea,

would'st thou

roll

Thy

waters o'er

the

land

and

drown

the

whole

Just

to be

free

?

alas,

great

sea

small soul

Hush thee,

complaining

heart

Better

than free,

thank

God,

thou art,

Of

His

well-ordered

universe

a

part


83/144

VICTORIA

REGINA.

(On

the

death

of

the

Queen.)

Wearied

with

rule

she

lays

the

scepter

down

Another

hfts

it

may

God

save

the

King

But

none

shall

take

from

her

the

queenly

crown

Love-jeweled,

which

to-day

the

nations

bring.

77


84/144

GLADSTONE DEAD.

This

was

that

Greatheart

whose

strong

sword

and

shield

Safeguarded

the weak peoples

and

oppressed,

His

brethren

we,

his

weapons

may

we

wield

Honor

him

so,

the

hero

laid

to

rest.

78


85/144

THE

UNSAINED

BAIRNS.

Ayont

the

kirk is

the

kirkyard,

Whaur

sleep

the streekit

deid

In

sodded,

snod and

decent raws,

Wi' gravestanes

at

their heid.

The hie stane

wa's

on

ilka side

Stan'

roun'

to be

their

guard.

Till

they hear

that

day

the last loud

trump

And

rise

to

their reward.

It's

lown and

green

In

the

kirkyard,

But

ootowre

it's

cauld and

bare.

And

neither

dyke nor

kindly

tree

To

fend the

sleepers

there.

Ay, it's

eerie

oot

in

the

open,

And oh

but

the

graves

are

wee,

79


86/144

8o

THE

UNSAINED

BAIRNS,

And

no'

a

stane,

nor

pented

brod,

To

tell

wha

the

deid

may

be

And

hoc

are

they

no'

in the

kirkyard

?

And

hoo are

the

hillocks

sae

sma'?

Are

the

wee

folk

deid,

hae they

buried

them,

To

the

win'ward

o'

the

wa'

?

Oh

wheesht

wi'

clash

o'

wee

folk

Fm

fleyed

at

sic

licht

speech

Thir manes

are

o'

unkirsened weans

That

Christ's

bluid couldna

reach.

Their

faithers

lie

in the

kirkyard.

And

for

his

comin'

wait.

But hoo

could

bairns

unsained be

laid

In grund

that

is

consecrate?

They

sleep

their

sleep

on

the

open

muir,

And the

curlews

owre

them

cry


87/144

THE

UNSAINED

BAIRNS,

gj

An

eerie

soun'

like

a

speerit

lost

Atween

the

earth

and

sky.

But

here

is

ane,

a

muckle

grave,

Wha

drees

a

weird

sae

sair?

Oh,

that's

whaur

Marget

Gilchrist

lies;

She

socht

a

burial

there.

And

did

she

nick

the

thread

o'

life?

Or

did

she

curse

her

God?

Hoo

lies

she

no'

in

the

kirkyard

In

grave

weel-marked

and

snod?

Na,

she

was

nane

o'

your

ill

anes

;

Were

a'

like

her,

my

feth.

The

warF

wad

be

a

cantier

place,

And

nane

be

fleyed for

Death

A

guid,

guid

woman

was

Marget,

But

she

couldna'

thole

the

thocht


88/144

82

THE

UNSAINED BAIRNS,

That

bairns should

lie

on the

open muir

And

their

sauls

be

damned

for

nocht.

It

canna

be

true,

gin

God

be

God

Luve

has

mair pooer

than bluid

Ay,

thae were

the

awsome

words

she

spak.

Though

Marget,

I

say,

was

guid.

She

wadna lie

in

the

auld kirkyard

Whaur

the sanctly

folk are laid

She

maun lie

doun wi' the unsained

bairns

To

mither

them

sae

she said

Atweel

'twas

a

risky

thing

she

did,

But

some

folk threep,

I've

heard.

That noo the

muir

is holier

grund

Than

was

e'er

the

auld

kirkyard.

And the bairns

that Christ's

bluid

couldna

reach,

For

a'

may win

the

stake.

And Stan'

redeemed

by Luve, in

Heaven,

For

his

and

Marget's

sake


89/144

JOHN

TAMSON'S

BAIRNS.

Noo

here*s

to you,

and

you, and

you,

Wha speak the Doric

tongue;

Frae

mony

airts,

but ane

at

heart

When

Scotland's praise

is

sung

What's

Tweed

or

Tay,

what's

Doon

or

Don

?

What's Lothians

or

the

Mearns?

The

a'e

ruiftree

owerspans

them

a'

We're

a'

John

Tamson's bairns

Auld

Scotland's

worthies

are

her pride;

Sma' wonner

gin

she

craw

At

wark

or

lear,

at

war

or

sang.

Her

laddies ding

them

a'

The years

but brichter mak'

their

fame

And

higher

bigg their

cairns

83


90/144

84

JOHN

TAMSOISrS

BAIRNS,

Wallace

and Burns,

and

a'

between

And

a'

John

Tamson's

bairns

The

Scots are

scattered

far

and

wide

They

stand

in

India's

glare,

Canadians

snaws,

Australia's

sands

A

pickle

here

and

there

Alane

in

desert spots

o'

earth,

Or

where

men

pack

like

herrins,

They dae

their

wark,

they

mak'

their

mark-

They're a'

John

Tamson's bairns

The

muckle

warl'

that lies

ower

seas

Has had oor kintra's

best

Her

Moffats,

Duffs and

Livingstones,

Her

Chalmers

^

and the

rest

Baith

hoo

to

mak'

and hoo

to

gie

She frae

Carnegie learns;

And what

a

gift

was Stevenson

They're

a'

John

Tamson's

bairns

*

Missionary

to

New Guinea.


91/144

JOHN

TAMSON'S

BAIRNS,

85

We're

brithers a'

tho' ane's on tap,

And

ane speels bit by bit,

And

ane

has

made as brave a fecht

Yet

sprachles'

at

the

fit.

What

mak's

the

differ?

Wha wad

judge?

Whiles health, whiles

luck,

whiles

harns

But

up,

or

doun,

join

hands

a'

roun'

We're

a'

John

Tamson's

bairns

But

wider

is

oor

britherhood

Than

race or

speech

can bind

A Scot's a Scot,

yet

kin'

is

he

To a'

o'

humankind

It's

man

to

man, the

warl' ower,

And ilka

true heart

learns.

That

skin

and

tongue

and

creed

apart,

We're

a'

John

Tamson's

bairns


92/144

RAINY

SCOTLAND.

Yestreen

I

met

a

creatur'

as thrawn as

ony

wuddy,

There

was

nae single

thing that pleased

the fykie

body

E'en

Scotland

wasna'

perfect, and

what

think

ye

was

wrang?

*^

Owre

muckle rain,

owre

muckle

rain

noo wasna

that

a

sang?

A

drap or

twa

o' watter

what's that

to

ca'

a

faut?

The body

maun

be made, I

doot,

o' sugar or

o'

saut

And

what

was

weetin' rain

to

him

wad

be to me or

you

Nae

mair

than

just

a

mornin' mist or

fa'

o'

gloamin'

dew.

86


93/144

RAINY

SCOTLAND,

sy

We've

no

sae muckle

rain

ou

ay,

some

orra

bits

o'

show'rs

Tween

glints

o'

sun

to fill

the

burns

and

freshen

up

the

flow'rs,

And,

now

and then,

a

sprinkle

that's

guid

for

neeps

and heather

It

wad

be

sinfu'

maist

to

growl

at

sic

grand

growin' weather.

Ou,

whiles

we

hae

a canny

seep,

and

whiles

it's

saft

a

wee

But

dounricht

pour, or blash or

blaud

ye'll

no

sae

often

see

But,

gin

it's

just

a

smurr

some

folk'll

girn

and

grane,

Gin it's

nae

mair

than

spittin'

,

they'll

cry

owre

muckle

rain.

There's

places that's no fashed

wi'

rain,

there's

lands

awa'

doun South


94/144

SS

RAINY

SCOTLAJND,

Where

no

a

drap

'11

fa' for

months,

and

a'

things

choke

wi' drouth

Nae

caller

watter

loupin'

frae the

mountain

to

the

plain,

Nae

peaceful'

tarns,

nae

lauchin'

burns

and

a'

for

want o' rain

O Scotland's bonnie,

bonnie,

and

gin

we

loe

her

smiles

We

ken

they're

a'

the

sweeter

because it

rains

there

whiles

And if

some fykie

body

cries

out

owre

muckle

rain,

We

wish

nae waur than,

may

he

gang to yon

place

where

there's

nane


95/144

FOR

A

PHOTOGRAPH

ALBUM.

Here

are the

pictures

of

our

friends-

You

only

see the

faces,

But

we,

who

look

beyond,

can

note

A

hundred

tender

graces.

You see

the

heads

we

see

besides

The

halos

bright

above

them

The

wit

and

worth

that

we

admire,

The

love for

which

we

love

them.

89


96/144

THE

CHURCH.

Today

the veil

is

on her

face

And

cold,

and

bold and lustful

eyes

See

not

the

glory

and the

grace

That

walk

the

earth

in

modest

guise.

But

when

the Lord

shall

claim

his bride.

Fair

as

the

sun her charms

shall shine

Men shall behold her

by

His

side

And

know

the human

is

divine.

The

Church

shall

be

his

wedded wife

He finds

the

fittest

symbol

this

Heaven has

no

holier,

higher

life,

Earth knows

no

higher,

holier

bliss.

He

makes

the

marriage

tie

his sign,

And

seals

each

household

for

his

own,

Our

human

love

is

love divine

Man

may not part

what

God makes

one

90


97/144

ALPHA

AND

OMEGA.

Two

letters from the ancient

Greek,

Above

the

pulpit

shine

in

gold,

As

if

the walls

themselves

would speak

Of One

who

is,

and

was

of

old

Beginning, Ending,

First

and

Last,

By worlds adored. Eternal

Christ,

Dwelling in glory

unsurpassed,

Yet

deigning

here

to

keep

a

tryst

A

plain

man all

unlearned

in

Greek

And strange

Apocalyptic

lore,

Seeking

the

Jesus,

strong

yet

meek,

Who helps men as

he

helped of

yore.

Smiled when

he

saw

the

letters

fair

A.

W.,

that's

good,

said

he

''All

Welcome

suits the

House

of Prayer;

I'm

glad

among

Christ's

folk

to

be

91


98/144

92

ALPHA AND OMEGA.

I

think

that

in

men's

thoughts

there

are

Two

Christs

and

one

is

lost

to

view

In

distant,

glorious

realms, afar

From all

the

life he lived

and

knew.

But

one

we

meet

in

home

and street,

His

love

makes

common life

divine,

Him

plain

men

know

and

gladly

greet

Brother

and

Master

yours

and mine


99/144

COLUMBIA,

HAIL

TO

THEE.

(For

an

occasion.)

Air''

Men

of

Harlech.

Sing

of

her,

the

land

that

bore

us

Sing her banner

floating

o'er

us

Sound

her

name

in

noble

chorus,

Strong

and

full

and free.

Sing

while

all

her

children

cheer

it,

Sing and

shout,

the world

shall

hear

it-

Friends shall love and foemen fear it

Columbia,

hail

to

thee

For

her

our

sires

have

striven-

For

her,

fair

gift

of

heaven,

In

Freedom's fight.

For

truth

and

right.

Their

blood

was

freely

given

Children's children, tell

the

story,

93


100/144

94

COLUMBIA, HAIL

TO

THEE.

Crown

her

head

with wreaths of glory,

Love

and

honor

shower

upon

her,

Hail,

Columbia,

hail

Favored land,

the earth's

best treasure

Fills

her

lap in

endless

measure;

Gifts

for

use,

and

gifts

for

pleasure,

Lavished

large

and

free

Hail

her

plains

with harvests weighted,

Waters

wide with

white

sails

freighted,

Mountain

peaks

with

sunlight

sated.

Columbia,

hail

to

thee

War

and

wrong

shall

never

State

from

State

dissever

Our

Union

stands,

the

first

of

lands,

Through

toil

and

high

endeavor

Ye, her children,

tell

the

story,

Crown

her

head

with

wreaths

of

glory,

Love

and honor

shower

upon

her.

Hail,

Columbia, hail


101/144

CLINTON

BOWEN

FISK.

(Died

July,

1890)

Soldier

and

citizen

and patriot

he

Who

loved

his

country

love her

right

or

wrong,

As

patriot

should,

but

with devotion

strong

Give

his

whole

life

to

keep

her right and

free

He

lived

to

save

the

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